Feelings, Emotions, and Other Ick
by MiniCinnamon99
Summary: A series, or collection if you like, of oneshots that I wrote in a ridiculously small amount of time, and am particularly proud of. They're about my three most favourite characters and involve all of the things in the title. No sex, no swears, just feels and heartache. Any questions? Well keep reading. It all gets better after Chp 1. (AND THE PIC ISN'T MINE!)
1. Fathers

Well, each of these took me about ten to twenty minutes to write and I was shocked at how well they turned out. I was bored and so here they are.

I don't own anything in any of these except Jack's son in this first one.

* * *

"I think ye be missin' something o' yers Jackie."

Jack looked up from his bookkeeping to see his father standing in the doorway of his open cabin.

"Really," he said more than asked, "That could be anythin'. Do I have t' guess, or are ye gonna show me?"

Teague grinned like a shark, no humor in sight, and pulled a stumbling awkward teenager from behind him.

Jack could only sigh.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes skyward, hoping for some strength from some deity he hardly believed in. Then he turned back to his father and his son.

"Well c'mon Junior, out with it," he flapped his hands in his own casual manner, "What did you pillage, plunder, drink, debauch, or blow up this time?"

"Why do you always assume I did something?" the slurring teenager protested loudly, doing a great imitation of being drunk, "Why can't it be his Highny over here that has a problem and is just blamin' it on me?"

Jack quirked a sly grin, "Because yer related to me, now out with it."

The boy sighed and dropped the drunk act, "Twasn't much really...

Whack!

The boy was cut off by Teague cuffing him upside the head hard enough to knock him to his knees.

"Twasn't much was it? You were stealin' out o' me own treasury!"

Jack sat stock still, frozen in fear as the scene took him back to some of the worst nights of his childhood. He could still picture how his Da' looked to him then at just nigh on six, and then again fourteen. Those were the only two incidents he remembered with crystal quality, but there were plenty of others floating around too.

And he saw his son sitting in the same place he had he felt molten rage flood his blood, and then it hardened to cold steel. He was pissed.

"...from family, boy, it just ain't..."

"Teague." His voice was quiet but firm enough to cut of the man's tirade.

His son sat frozen, watching him warily. He, at least had been on the recieving end of The Voice only once and Jack had caught him talking to Gibbs about how it sounded. Regardless, he knew at least thee boy had common sense.

"What!?" Teague bellowed at him.

The boy looked to his grandfather in shock, but he dared not say a word. Maybe he could get out of the line of fire if he stayed quiet.

Jack however, beat him to the punch.

"Go find Gibbs, Junior, he'll give ye a list o' extra chores ye got, and we'll talk later."

The boy nodded so hard Jack thought his head would fly right off and then he scurried to his feet and out of the room.

Jack really couldn't blame him and then Teague turned his icy glare on him and he wished he could escape too, if only to escape the memories.

"You just let the boy go!? I was perfectly 'appy to dole out his punishment, since yer too cowardly and you just let 'im go!?"

Jack only smirked and spoke dangerously, "You forget, I know all about your punishments."

Jack's soft tone startled Teague but he grinned obliviously.

"Ah, so you'll punish 'im later then. Good boy Jackie. You grew up good."

Jack flinched and then grinned like a shark, not unlike Teague's expression when he had entered. This one had a more dangerous glint to it.

"I did, didn't I?"

Teague laughed and went to leave when Jack's soft voice stopped him.

"Teague?"

The old man turned and was startled to see Jack so close to his face he felt his son's breath move his hair ornaments. Then he felt the pistol press into his sternum.

"If you so much as think of touchin' my boy again, I'll kill you," he stated softly and then grinned that shark grin again, "Savvy?"

Teague shied away and looked at his son in shock, before huffing and storming out of the cabin, and Jack slammed the door shut behind him with a feral growl of disgust.

With a few deep breaths he stalked back to his chair and threw himself into it.

"Come 'ere boy, I know fer a fact ye didn't go t' Gibbs like I asked."

"I-I'm sorry," a meek voice called out from his balcony.

"Ah, I'm not gonna hit ye boy, get over here."

The boy immediately scrambed inside the window and cautiously made his way over to his father.

When he was finaly close enough, Jack reached out and snagged the back of his shirt, so he could pull him into his lap.

"Da'!" the boy protested loudly, "I'm thirteen, I don't need to be on yer lap like some droolin' toddler!"

Jack chuckled, "Well I want ye here so here ye'll stay me boy. Now what put the bee in the old man's bonnet?"

"I...took somethings from his chest in the study and bartered 'em away cuz Lario and Herbert both got fired again."

Jack winced. Damn, he thought he'd found 'em both a good job this time. Those rugrats were gonna be the death of both him and his boy it seemed.

"How'd their Ma' take it?" Jack asked.

The boy shrugged, " 'bout as well as she takes anything else; with a hug and a smile. The she went out and stole a new dress t' try and get her whorin' job back."

Jack winced again at his language, but the boy noticed and scoffed.

"C'mon Da' that's what it is."

"Alright, fine. I'm out of ideas where their concerned boy-o. I might just have to offer 'em a place aboard the ship and see how well they do."

The boy laughed, "Yer probably the softest hearted pirate around. It must be old age."

Jack smiled widely ready to make a quip but it faded as some memories came to mind.

Like his beatings as a child for giving away gold and jewels he pocketed to smaller kids with bigger families.

Like how he set free a shipload of slaves and got a brand and a life of piracy for it.

Like how he opened his crew's quarters to a starving man and his stranded companions, and ended up governer of a godforsaken spit of land in the middle of nowhere.

Like how he had saved a woman from drowning only to end up eaten by a mythical sea creature.

He sighed. Oh how he wished it was only old age.

He smiled up at his boy sadly and shook his head.

"Yer a good boy."

His boy looked at him strangely but nodded.

"Yer a good Da' too."

Jack chuckled. If only.


	2. Homecoming

I don't own Jack, Elizabeth or Teague.

* * *

Standing across from each other in the rain was the saddest homecoming they'd had in a while.

Normally, he'd bring his ship in on the sunniest days imaginable, and she'd rush to the docks to meet him, and they'd embrace and start telling each other all of the things that had happened to each of them while he'd been away.

Today, wasn't that day. Today wasn't normal. It wasn't even in their own private, warped realm of normal that included walking skeletons, and angry fish people, and vengeful eldritch creatures.

Today they stood no more than a few feet between them, and yet it felt like countries and leagues of wide open ocean. It felt like they were a hair's breadth apart, and at the same they were worlds away from one another.

As her eyes roved his figure she could see the time spent in the Spaniards' stockades as if it had been branded on him. She shuddered as she thought of his brand and then she almost convulsed as she thought of the matching one, new and pink, covered by her new wrist cuff.

But his time in the hands of the Spanish was so glaringly obvious she ached for him. And how hungry he must be. His clothes hung loosely on him, and yet he wore so many, the average person probably wouldn't notice.

She could see his crew's last betrayal in the lines of his face and in the set of his mouth, plain as day. She could see the heart break of losing his beloved Pearl again in the set of his shoulders, and she felt something similar for her sunken Empress.

He wasn't even wearing his usual kohl, and his hair was shorter than Jack Sparrow's hair was meant to be. He gave off the air that he was just too tired to care what he looked like.

Thankfully all of his beautiful trinkets were tied to the string on his compass. His compass was still a faithful companion on his belt and she found comfort in that. He could always find his way home.

As she looked him over again, she could see the blood spots on his ruined jacket, and the jagged glass behind his haunted eyes. With that look, she wondered how much of the blood was his. She wondered which answer she'd prefer.

Horrors done to your person were easier to get over than horrors done to others by your own hands. And she would know.

When she finished her mental journal of his changes, that she kept religiously (it was the only religion she had now it seemed) she idly wondered if he did the same. She wondered if her could see her brush with the EITC that she only escaped by the skin of her teeth. The 'P' on her wrist was not the only scar from that occasion.

She wondered if he could see her miscarriage in her shedding hair, or in her pale, sickly skin. She wondered if he could see how Will had left her for a vengeful witch and had told her he 'set her free' in the slump of her back.

If he could he made no mention, just as she hadn't. She imagined he had heard all about her misadventures just as she had his, and there was no need to tell the whole sordid tale over again, unless there became an opportune moment to do so. Now was not then. Of course not, because only then could be then and now was now, and...this was really not the time for senseless babble.

She was starting to fear her own stint on a deserted island not so long ago, had made her a bit addled. She wondered if he could see that too, in her eyes. Maybe they were a matching set now. Maybe they always had been.

He had always said 'peas in a pod, darling'.

But it was strange. Seeing each other so irrevocably changed and yet the same.

It was even stranger knowing they were coming home to each other for the first time.

Normally they meet as friends, or sometimes grudging acquaintances, or sometimes, as Teague joked, a squabbling married coulple. Sometimes they would meet together just to sit together and drink rum in silence, because 'drinking alone is just depressing Lizzie, no fun at all'.

But now they had come home...to each other. It was...awkward. Neither of them knew what to do or how to act. And it was...

"Oi!" Teague's bellow startled both of them and they jumped, " 're you two gonna bring it inside, or just stand there squaring off like a couple of drownin' rats fightin' o'er the last piece of hardtack?"

They glanced at each other and burst into laughter. Alright, maybe it was a normal day after all.


	3. Penance

I don't own Elizabeth or Teague.

* * *

Teague's presence loomed over her and she felt meek; small in all sense of the word.

His piercing eyes made her feel as if she was made of transparent glass. So easy to see through he need barely look. And yet he stared intensely, as if she would disappear when he removed his gaze or even lessened it slightly. She very much wanted to and yet didn't at the same time. She couldn't stand his company for how familiar he looked and yet she couldn't bare to be alone.

His eyes, his hair, his posture, his clothes, his face...Her heart ached fiercely again for everything she'd come to know and everything she'd lost.

"So yer the slight thing that managed to kill Jack?"

She shuddered at his voice. It was like listening to milk and honey being spread over raw silk, with just enough spice to account for the husk.

Her heart desperately called out for its fellow bird and like always there was no reply.

And she couldn't bear to be alone so she shrugged.

Her voice was flat, steady, even as she simply stated, "I wasn't so slight then."

He seemed taken aback by her answer and smirked cruelly.

"Remorse ain't being kind to ye then I see."

Elizabeth sneered, "Maybe it would be kinder if there was remorse to be found."

Teague stared at her unrelenting, and she suddenly wished she had indeed tried to escape. Then she'd have given him a reason to shoot her and this would be over; her pain and his interrogation.

Suddenly he barked a laugh, harsh and sharp, and with no humour at all. She flinched. HE had laughed like that once, not so very long ago. She'd sooner die then have that dagger drawn against her again. And whether she was talking metaphorically, or physically she wasn't quite sure.

"If it ain't remorse...Captain Lizzie, then what would you call yer current state of..." he gestured at her agressively and she knew exactly what he was referring to.

She was unwashed, unfed, and unwatered,all of her own accord. She looked like a starving waif and yet she couldn't bring herself to care. At least when she ached from hunger it was easy to pretend she wasn't aching from something else, something not returned.

She only stared at him though, not once looking away because of shame or guilt. She had no remorse. She had done no wrong, in her own mind. She had no heart. She was a...well. She still believed she wasn't guilty.

Instead of admitting defeat she took a swig of rum and gave him a shark's grin.

"Penance."

He stared again and she stared back. Then he pulled out his pistol, quicker than she could blink.

"I should kill ye lass," he growled in his most intimidating voice. She shivered again, and whether it was from memory or starvation, she wasn't sure.

"You would be doing me a favour Captain," she said emotionlessly, and took a long pull of her bottle.

His hand kept steady as he quirked his head in a way that was so JACK she thought she'd splinter into a million pieces. But she didn't and he kept staring. She stared back.

Finally he growled again and put his pistol away.

"Be a waste o' me bullets," he said gruffly.

She nodded like that was the answer she was expecting and took another swig.

He grabbed his own rum off the desk roughly and barked at her.

"Well ye can go lass, I don't expect ye t' stay in me company any longer than strictly necessary."

She didn't flinch at his tone, and stared blankly ahead swirling what was left of her drink in the bottle with nothing more than her finger tips gripping the neck.

"I like your rum," she said with no emotion. It was fact. Fact was simple. No room for misunderstanding, nothing bad to come of good intentions. No hurt feelings and no ill will. Simple.

Teague looked at her in that unnerving way again, but this time his eyes sparkled with something other than malice. It was something she knew well, and yet felt relunctant to name.

Finally he nodded, "Aye lass, this is the good stuff."

So they stayed in his study that night, and all of the nights after. He stayed because he had nowhere better to be, and didn't want to dirty his bullets. She stayed because she had nowhere to go, and she enjoyed his rum. And if both of them were lying to themselves, well neither mentioned it or the origin of their soul crippling regret.

But neither of them ever took down the painting that hung beside his desk like some kind of mocking monument to their guilt, or an altar for their hearts. They both agreed silently, they deserved the pain of seeing his face. It was their penance after all.


	4. Promises

I don't own Jack or his famous heartbreaking streak.

* * *

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

Each of the bottles shattered rythmically as she focused with deadly intent.

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_"I love you, you know."_

_"I know luv."_

_"You don't have to say it back."_

_"I know."_

_"Bastard."_

_A golden smile..."My parents were married luv."_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

The pull of the gun wasn't enough to keep her mind out of those awful memories, but she didn't mind. She needed the constant reminder of why she was doing this, and the ache in her heart wasn't enough, she was sure. That precious ache would only make her love him more. No, she needed the poisonous whispers of the mind if she intended revenge.

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_"Come with me darling."_

_"Will you marry me like you promised?"_

_That golden smile again._

_"Ye, know I will."_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

_Rain. Naval uniforms. Gunfire. Swords._

_"Stop!"_

_"Jack, watch out!"_

_"Ugh, Thanks luv. Oops."_

_"Sparrow!"_

_"Well, time to go."_

_"But...Jack! You can't leave me here!"_

_"Time and tide love. Any port in a storm, eh?"_

_"Sparrow!"_

_"Ugh, JACK! You BASTARD!"_

_That golden smile._

_"My parents are still married luv!"_

...Steady...

...Breathe...

...Hold...

_**Bang.**_

She smiled as the last bottle shattered. With the last memory, she traced the script 'J' tattoo on her wrist. Yes, revenge will be sweet. And Jack Sparrow's death will be sweeter.


	5. Punishment

I don't own Lizzie, or Jack, or Teague, but the OOCness and the feels and the heartache are owned by me in this one shot.

* * *

All was quiet in the great mansion of the Keeper, except for the muted sobs coming from behind the door his back rested on.

He could hear her trying to muffle the sound, but in a place as quiet and old as this one, made of nothing but echoing wood and empty space, it would be easy to hear throughout the household.

What he couldn't figure was why he was sitting here. If he could hear her sobs throughout the house, why did he need to sit here punishing himself in public where he could get caught by any passerby? If he could listen to her strangled sobs in any part of his childhood home, then why did he have to sit here where he had an all too crystal quality of her plight and listen to her until his own eyes burned and his chest ached?

Because he was hoping for her to come to him. He knew it was stupid. The dumbest thing he'd ever done really, but he'd delved deep into his conscience and found it in him to forgive her. And as her only…friend let's say, currently in Shipwreck Cove he'd even more foolishly hoped she'd seek him out for comfort.

And lately he'd been groping at the last vestiges of his life before the Locker, hoping to find something to cling to. The black void that had been his soul in that hellish place, didn't seem to recede, even though he'd left the place itself far behind him.

He found it difficult to find any emotion other than numb, and when he did it was an intense longing to be warm. Even under the unceasing sun in that awful place he'd felt…cold. He still felt cold to his very bones, in the very heart of him he felt like ice. Truly, he needed Elizabeth's comfort as much as she needed his, but…she was married now.

And he'd waited for her too long to be satisfied with simple friendship. Maybe before…before the Land of the Dead, he might've been able to exercise restraint. But he had nothing to stop him now. He wouldn't stop until he was warm. He knew it was wrong…most of the time. Until the little Jack's started arguing around him in circles making it impossible to unclutter his already muddled head.

His resolve to be a fair man had simply…vanished. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that. He wasn't sure about a lot of things now. He wasn't sure who he even was anymore. But it certainly wasn't Captain Jack Sparrow, or Jackie, or Jonathan Smith anymore. Maybe…he could learn to be Cap'n Jack again…a different version, but close enough. Just…not right now.

He wanted to sit here first, practicing his self-control. Really, he was terrified of what would happen should he try to open the door. All he could think about now was her acres and acres of warm silky skin. So warm. He knew that should he open that door to see her, the love of his life, he wouldn't last. He'd barely kept his hands off of her when they'd passed each other in the hall earlier today. And that terrified him.

Where was her good man now? He used to hate that side of himself, since it got him into trouble more often then any other part of his personality, but he could always count on it to be there. He despised the truly evil men of this world more than he did his own honest streak, and he had been determined since he was young and stupid not to be another Cutler Beckett, or another Hector Barbossa. Another version of his father.

Although, Jack mused as he felt the air stir, and heard the sound of a bottle sloshing, he's gone a long way to rectifying that, hasn't he?

He opened his eyes just barely to except the full bottle of rum from his father's outstretched hand. He wasn't worried about his father finding out about how bad it was. Teague had gotten that out of him his first night here, the sly bastard. Then again where do you think Jack learned his tricks from? Couldn't have made them all up could he?

No Teague was more informed than he needed to be already, so Jack had no reason to be sober. Other than listening to Elizabeth cry. He needed to be conscious enough to do that, because if he wasn't…well what else did he have?

That was a scary thought.

"Wot is it tha' brings you knockin' on her door, and yet makes ye go no further than the stoop outside it?"

Jack uncorked his bottle and shrugged.

Teague looked at his son carefully and shook his head.

"All I 'ear is yer marbles rattlin' 'round in there Jack. I ain't fluent in tha', yer gonna have to translate."

Jack quirked a smile despite himself.

"Wot do I 'ave left?" he mused aloud and he was right. It was even scarier out in open air.

"Wot ye mean?" Teague asked, taking a swig of his rum.

"After she's done bein' angry with me, after she finishes cryin' o'er her husband and gets back to bein' Lizzie Swann, wot claim do I have on her? None. She goes on, and I'm still sittin' 'ere on the floor with an ancient relic, and a bottle o' rum."

"There's a willin' wench in e'ry port Jackie," Teague pointed out sardonically, deftly ignoring the ancient relic comment although he knew it wouldn't help Jack any to point out the obvious.

Jack grimaced even as he thought about it.

"They all want the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. I'm _old _Da'. Wot use do they 'ave for me? I died. I aven't been 'n any kind of port for the past two years. I aven't heard a good story bout meself or the Pearl or my crew in even longer. I'm obsolete now, and now tha' I've lost Lizzie…Wot do I 'ave left?"

Teague looked at his listless son, almost fearful of the man's stillness, and his dreary attitude, but understanding it more than he cared for Jack to know.

But despite it all, the corner of his mouth ticked up.

"Ye still 'ave yer life Jackie, ye still 'ave yer life. Do you remember wot I told ye? It ain't bout living forever? It ain't. Ye don't need immortal legends, ye don't need magic to make sure ye never die, and ye don't need no whores singing yer praises and carryin' on stories of your conquests. All ye need to do is live with yer self. Can ye live with yer self as is? If ye had t' be this person forever, could ye live with that?"

Jack looked at him seriously for a moment and then shook his head. Teague nodded and took a swig of his rum.

"Fine then," he told his son as he swallowed, "From this moment on, ye make it so ye can. Anythin' ye do from now on should be tryin' to make it so ye can live with yer self again. Ye'll find yer self before you know it Jackie. But it'll take more hard work than ye've seen in a while."

Jack barked a laugh.

"I just fought a war not more than four days ago, and now yer lecturin' me bout difficult tasks? It can't be more gruelling than Jones n' Cutler all 'n one shot."

Teague smiled sadly and leant his head back against the wall.

"If only you knew," he murmured, "If only you knew."

Jack looked at his father for a long time, but he didn't question him any further. Teague for his part offered no answers to his son's unasked questions either. Eventually Jack settled back and they shared a long night of drinking, and silence between them, listening to Elizabeth sob, and occasionally scream, herself hoarse. Tomorrow she wouldn't be able to talk, but then again…neither would Jack.


	6. Venom

I don't own Jack or Lizzie, but the nightmare, and the angst these two have created here are all mine. And I love every drop of it. _

Standing a short distance from each other, the electricity crackled in the air between them, and the air was thicker then soup. She felt heavy in her bones, but her eyes and chest burned with the guilt she now carried deep in her soul. How he couldn't see it she had no idea.

"What is it you want _Miss Swann_?" he hissed her name like it was the most foul curse in all of the Caribbean.

She carefully kept her eyes on the floor, and swallowed delicately, hoping not to provoke the viper that so obviously shifted under his skin. It was a terrible thought, but a true one none the less; she had created this hateful creature.

"I came here," she told him softly, "To apologize."

"Really?," he smirked, "So you aren't a pirate after all. Too bad. And yet you aren't the perfect _governor's_ daughter anymore either."

She flinched at the emphasis on her father's former title and knew that was a blow intended to dig, and cut her deep beneath her skin. It had done it's job, but she was numb. Numb to pain, to sorrow, to exhaustion, to hunger, to thirst…to fear.

"So that leaves…What?" he spread his arms mockingly, "Where does that leave Miss Swann, the charming murderess?"

She gave him a glassy-eyed smirk of her own.

"It leaves me standing right here, trying to apologize. As per usual, you've interrupted and tied your own noose."

"Interesting word choice," he sneered at her, "For someone who tied it for me not so long ago."

"Surely," she taunted back, just as she had always done, "Surely, you can come up with something better than that. You're not one to reuse the same material."

Jack growled and slipped a dagger from somewhere, stepping into her personal space and shoving her into his cabin wall with the small blade now at her neck.

"And you never said why you wish to apologize. I thought you _weren't sorry_?" he hissed at her again, "What changed that pretty little mind of yours? Thought if you begged my forgiveness, everyone else would follow? Is being excluded too much for you princess?"

She flinched at the new nickname he had conjured and was at a loss for why. She knew in this instance it was derogatory, but…for some inexplicable reason she longed to be called _Lizzie_ again. She had been called many things in her short life but Lizzie…had come to mean something special.

"No," she said softly, her eyes burning with tears that could no longer fall, "I said I wasn't sorry then. You never once asked what I wasn't sorry for."

Jack chuckled menacingly as he crowded closer to her. He loomed over her, and the look on his face made it clear she should feel like a piece of meat staked out in front of a large predator. She could attest to the fact that it was quite affective.

"I know exactly what you weren't sorry for Elizabeth. You forget…_peas in a pod darling_," he whispered his last words, the breath he exhaled ghosting over her skin, making goosebumps appear. His grin turned into one of the cat who had caught the canary.

"You weren't sorry for the kiss," he whispered, surprisingly tender, "And you never will be. But the guilt of chaining me to the mast, tsk, tsk."

He shook his head while clicking his tongue and she had the insane urge to giggle as his hair trinkets clacked together.

"And you did it anyway," he whispered, a bizarre note of pride seeping into his voice, "To which I commend you. A true pirate. However…"

The steel abruptly returned to his eyes and a thrill slid down her spine. If she was afraid of death any longer, she might fear for her life in this moment, but here and now, all she feels is excitement.

"You made your choice 'Lizabeth," he growled at her, "And you chose the whelp. I did my part as a gentleman and stayed away. Then you change your mind, and condemned me for it."

She opened her mouth to protest, to say no the only reason she had changed her mind was she had realized she had never loved Will in the first place, but he raised a finger and she paused. Surely she hadn't…...she had. She had condemned Jack for both her and Will's failings. Maybe not consciously, but…when the time came, it was easier to get rid of Jack than to deal with the feelings she had for him…or _didn't have_ for Will.

"And this _Miss Swann_," he hissed a final time, "Is what you are still paying for."

She gasped as she felt the knife dig in to her skin, and slide like silk across her neck, and the hot blood that flowed after it.

With a silent scream she sat up in her bed, grabbing at her throat and gasping for air like she had been drowning. The hot tears streaming down her face, scalded, and the cool air coming in from the open door that had been knocked loose in the night chilled her so much she thought she would freeze. Everything in the room, her heavy breathing, the scratchy sheets, the creaking floorboards, felt like too much. Too much for her to look at, too much for her to deal with, too much to even feel on her skin.

Scrambling from the bed, she staggered to door, yanking it open all the way and making her way to the deck. When she burst out on deck, she hit her knees, gasping and sobbing, and _so grateful for open air_.

It took her a long time to calm down. The soft sobs and hiccoughs eventually stopped, leaving only tear stained cheeks, and violent shivers behind.

"Nightmare, _Miss Swann_?"

She froze at the recently familiar hiss of her former title. Slowly tilting her head upwards, she found a disheveled Captain Jack Sparrow standing over her. Judging by the tired lines on his face, she can assume his sleep was not much more restful than hers.

"Of a sort," she answered quietly, busying herself with getting her legs under her. When she finally got to her feet she looked at the man again.

"Nightmare Captain Sparrow?" she asked softly.

He merely smirked at her. And though she knew she was the snake in this equation, she couldn't help but flinch from the venom she could see in the expression he wielded better than any sword.


	7. Homecoming II

I just want to take a moment to thank all of you awesome people reading this. I put a chapter up yesterday and I got more reads in one day on this collection of one shots, than I've gotten for most of my other stories so far. No reviews though. A bit sad, but not the end of the world. No new favs or follows either, which is still sad, but not tragic. That's okay though! I still want to thank all of you lovely people!

If you've been here since I posted the first crappy chapter, or if you're just hopping on the band wagon, you've made it to chapter seven! You put up with me until CHAPTER 7. Just…wow. I'm still trying to figure out how you put up with my terrible writing this far, but hey, you're HERE. Let's not dwell on it too long. Thank you so much for reading all the way through. Thank you for not leaving scathing remarks, or public, derogatory, criticism. Thank you for taking the time to finish chapter six and come here to this one. Thank you.

And guess what? Since I was so happy, I went and immediately wrote this! Now I'm not saying I'll write more just because someone writes me a review or I get another load of views, because I simply don't have time for that. My life doesn't really let me write here anymore, because I just can't make up the time (I'm not disciplined enough to make it work) but I do love writing. So if you write me a review my next chapter will be dedicated to you. You can even give a request if it's not too complicated, and you leave a name for me to thank you with.

So, as per usual, I do not own Jack, Elizabeth, Will, Liam (maybe I own the name, but it's pretty much just accepted as cannon, so I doubt it, plus he's an actual person created by Disney, even if he is only after the credits so, nope I don't own him) or the Black Pearl and the Flying Dutchman.

"Liam!" she called, "Remember, not too close to the edge!"

All she got from the boy racing ahead of her was a grin over his shoulder that made her heart flutter. She would know that grin even in her dreams, and her boy had picked it up. It got a smile from her as well.

He skipped merrily along in the waist high grass, singing quietly to himself, the part of a familiar song that he remembered best.

"Yo ho, yo ho

A pirate's life for me…"

That song gave her warm memories of cool sand and a blazing fire with plenty of drink which brought a fuzzy quality to it, that was not altogether unpleasant.

It gave her cool memories of a cold deck, with misty fog, and an eerie foreboding air swirling around her, while a boy arose from the depths of the unforgiving sea, and a ship of darkness with sails that spoke of death and decay.

She wondered what memories her boy would associate with it. She wondered if this day would be one of those memories. For some reason she hoped so.

"So," Jack asked from his place beside her, with his arm over her shoulder, "Ye prepared for th' whelp to come home?"

She looked to Jack, meeting his gaze and shrugged.

"He's already on his way."

Jack smirked.

"Ye still 'ave time t' change yer mind luv," he reminded her tenderly as he pushed her hair back from her face.

She opened her mouth to reply, but she caught a glint of green out of the corner of her eye, and heard Liam's awed gasp.

"Mum," he called, spinning around, "Did you see that!?"

She gave Jack an impish grin and started walking toward her son.

"I did darling. Mr. Turner will be here soon."

"Mr. Turner?" Elizabeth spun to the left to see Will standing a short distance away from them, already, a look of confusion and hurt on his face.

All she could do was smile. Despite her undying love for Jack, despite all of the years of devotion she had given to Jack, despite their marriage, and their child, despite their legends and their adventures, seeing Will, her oldest childhood friend, still felt like coming home.

And she knew it would no matter how old they were, or how many years they spent apart. He was her only connection to her old home. And she needed that sometimes. Which was why the chest was still clutched in her arms.

"Liam," she told her boy without looking at him, "This is Mr. Turner. Mr. Turner, this is my son Liam. And have we got a story for you."

Situating themselves atop the cliff that overlooked the inlet, they all talked long into the night, the Black Pearl, and the Flying Dutchman bobbing in the sea below them sharing war stories of their own.

I know, it's terrible, but I wrote it really fast, since I'm trying to get it done before I do all of my homework (and there is a lot of that). Thanks again, all of you lovely readers! Review, review, review!


	8. Venom II

It took me a long time (longer than I wanted it to) but I kept my promise. Here you go Sleepy Lotus. Thanks ever so much for the review, and here's you request to the best of my ability. And beware of the spelling errors because no matter how many times I go over it, I always find at least one after I post.

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No one noticed how they watched each other except him. In a room full of people, he watched his son, and his son watched her.

His son was a panther, his dark grace, his lupine smile, his easy confidence. He exuded arrogance and passion, but his eyes held an emptiness Teague had never seen before on the likes of man. Sharks maybe, but never a man like his son.

But she wasn't his prey. She stood like the lioness. Where as the panther slunk around you, coaxing you into a trap with you unaware, the lioness stood tall and proud; daring you to come closer, daring you to challenge her. The fire in her eyes, and the steel in her spine told him Jack had done just that.

He had named her King moments ago. His smile was one of the wild cat who had managed to lure in it's prey with the poor animal unsuspecting. She had fallen in, but she wouldn't lay down and die like most would. She knew she had fallen, and she would fight him to the last breath.

He watched as Jack slunk to the door, and exited as gracefully as the panther he was emulating. Like the lioness she was, she set about tracking him, and stalked after him in his path. Being the lover of entertainment he was, Teague followed them both as well.

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"What's your angle Jack?" she hissed at him, "I know you have one. You never go into anything without a plan."

"Well I learn'd me lesson. I went into a kiss without one and look how tha' turned out."

Elizabeth huffed and crossed her arms with a growl.

"I apologized for that Jack, how many times can I say I'm sorry?"

"As many times as ye can repea' the words in yer measly existence luv," he purred. She tensed and looked up from the floorboards of the hallway to him and the pistol he was pointing at her.

She huffed again and pulled her cap off with a roll of her eyes, shaking out her hair and removing her hair pins. Jack seemed flabbergasted and watched her with wide eyes for a moment.

"What're ye doin'?"

She sighed and dropped the cap on the ground as she ran both hands through her hair.

"Getting comfortable Jack. You've taken most of my pride, most of my conscience, most of my waking thoughts, and most my sleeping ones. This is the _least_ you could offer me."

He watched her in amazement as she took off all of her belts and her jewellery, and proceeded to loosen her overcoat ties slightly. Teague had to admit he was severely impressed as well.

"There," she finally sighed, "I'm ready."

His face went from surprised to enraged and he growled as he surged forward and slammed her into the wall. She hissed as the gun dug into her stomach.

"You killed me," he growled, "And now ye sudd'nly got an attitude? What happened to th' meek Miss Swann who shuffled around me ship and avoided me at e'ry turn? What happened to th' wisp of a lass who stumbled out on deck after a nightmare and begged the air for forgiveness, hmm? Are ye really not scared?"

He shoved the gun in her face, and she did nothing but bare her teeth at him.

"Tell me you could've done it!" she hissed at him. The subject change stopped Jack in his tracks and he was visibly scrambling for an idea of what she was talking about.

"I'm not scared for the same reason you weren't. You wouldn't kill me unless there was a greater good. You think too little of yourself to use your own death as a reason."

"Why you-" he cocked the pistol and brought it to her temple but she wasn't finished.

"Peas in a pod darling," she hissed mockingly. Jack seemed to pause as her words hit him.

"You're a good man," she continued as Teague tried to figure out the significance of the previous phrase, "Tell me you wouldn't have chained me to the mast in a second if you could've saved the ship? If you could've saved your crew? If I had been in your place and you in mine. Could you have been selfish enough to send innocent people to their death because of the one person you loved more than anything? Would you have made me bare the guilt of my being alive instead of them? Could I have lived with being alive when so many had already died because of me?"

She watched as Jack's face shuttered and his eyes went dead. Teague watched, captivated, as she disarmed him.

She looked at him sadly, tears welling in her eyes.

"Peas in a pod Jack," she almost sobbed as she started playing with some of his hair beads, "You couldn't have bore the guilt of their deaths any easier than I could have. And they _would_ have died. So would've I. I kissed you because I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to let you know I loved you from the moment I met you, and I could never be yours. We're destined to dance around each other for the rest of our lives, because we would destroy each other if we were ever together. I left you there, because one taste of curiosity was enough. It burned me. It still does."

Jack smiled sadly, finally lowering the gun from where it had drifted away from her head.

"Was once really enough?" he asked her, his voice tight. She chuckled and slipped away from him, stooping to retrieve her things.

"Once was quite enough for me, at the time," she told him and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she left, "But then again, I never did learn from past mistakes all that well."

The door closed behind her as she went deeper into the palace of shipwrecks and Teague watched as his son slumped forward into the wall, resting his forehead there as his soft chuckles turned into ragged sobs. He wondered just who had dropped their disguise as a wild cat and turned into a snake. Did Jack drop his black and sleek exterior to become the deadly and unforgiving cobra, or did she drop her proud and fierce lioness to become the wary but cunning rattler? He supposed it didn't matter, judging by her matching sobs a short distance away. They had both spewed enough venom to take the other down, and somehow they hadn't driven the other half way across the ocean. He would never understand them. But then he didn't think they did either.

He shook his head and went back to the Court room. He was better off with his rum, his Codex, and his guitar. As least they didn't bite back.


	9. Control

You don't have to read this, but make sure to read the bottom!

I've always had this idea. The idea is...during that scene, that one scene where all of the characters that matter stand in one place and make a deal. Elizabeth promises a War, Beckett promises death, Jones promises revenge, and Jack promises a solution. But Jack's solution has always been a war. A war would almost guarantee Beckett's death, and would take out a lot of his enemies within the pirate ranks while providing a distraction enough for him to kill Jones. But the one thing he needed was to be aboard the Dutchman. And if you watch Elizabeth's face carefully in this scene...she **_knows_**. It all comes together for her. The entire plan lays itself out in her mind, and she **_knows_**. She almost _**smiles**_. And Jack gives her this grin. He gives her this look that tells you he knows too. Will knew about the betrayal of the Court and jack stabbing the heart because he was in on most of it, even if he was a tool. But all it took for Elizabeth to understand were a few simple clues. And she knew more than Will in seconds. I have this idea that this happens because she was meant to be Jack's partner in crime. She is his equal in every way. And this is what her being a pirate really means to Jack. To him, she is meant to be a pirate because her mind is just as devious and genius as his.

(_**M****o**__**re relevant notes below so don't skip them after reading**__!)_

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"_**A great sailor, until he run afoul of dat which vexes all men**__.__"_

He kept his feet moving forward, resolutely not thinking about how he had avoided Davvy Jones successfully until he had been shackled to the mast of his own ship by a charming murderess. Since he'd met her, he'd seen the tentacle-faced man more times than he cared to count. Come to think of it, he'd seen more of all of his enemies lately than he cared to think about.

"_What vexes all men? __**A wo-man**__."_

His feet nearly tripped up in the smooth sand with the effort it took him not to look at the woman striding half a step before him. Yes, he was vexed. And not in the way he appreciated.

"_**He fell in love**__. No no, I heard it was the sea he fell in love with."_

"It's the same thing mate," he murmured to himself, grateful for the breeze hitting his face and drowning out the sound.

He was aware she heard him anyway by the twitch of her shoulder. He felt an answering twitch in his hand, along with urge to stop her and turn them around.

He grinned sadly to himself.

"Peas in a pod darling."

"You wish," she murmured back and picked up her pace another half-step.

He grinned more brightly. Until the whelp came into view. From a fair distance, he thought Beckett had brought his right hand man with him in a temporary lapse of judgement. It turns out he was mistaken. The whelp lived.

"_He just wants Elizabeth for himself! _**You knew this**_!"_

"You bet I did mate," he told both his Norrington and Whelp hallucinations, "I knew she was meant for this. She's King now. And it looks good."

"_**Jack Sparra' does not know what he wants**__! __**Or…do know, but are loathe to claim it as your own**__."_

He caught sight of the sun glinting off her new costume, and steadily met the whelps gaze at the same time. _You've no idea Dalma, _he thought to himself,_ None at all._

Their party of three came to a halt, and Jack shuddered. Three of his worst enemies all-_charming murderesses should probably be included in the list Jackie. And what about mutinous whelps? And Barbossa seems to have become civil during his stint as a dead man-_fine two of his worst enemies, two newly minted ones, and an old kook who was on the fence, better?

All in one spot. With him in the middle. It didn't smell of open opportunity or suggest a ready escape anytime soon. He kept his senses alert, and bantered like normal. When Beckett implicated him, it was unfortunate but expected. Jones brought up his debt, like clock work, and as he gave the expected protest, he felt more than saw the answer hitting Elizabeth.

When her gaze snapped to him, he smirked, just for her, and a slow smile came to her face before she remembered herself and her face fell flat again. Unreadable. He almost grinned. _Peas in a pod darling_.

"I propose an exchange," her voice cut across him and Jones and he stilled in shock. He had expected her to try and bargain for Will and leave him behind accidentally on purpose. But to exchange people like objects for her own gain? He stifled a chuckle. _Oh Lizzie. Well done darling._

"_**It was a woman, as changing, and harsh, and untameable as da sea**__."_

He barely had time to react to Barbossa's outburst, but that was again expected. He had known Hector would put a kink in his plans, so he had decided from the beginning to ignore the old man, and let him flounder along. Jack had everything under control, especially if Hector was Tia Dalma's pet. He was on a short leash for now, which suited Jack's purposes just fine.

Finally him and Will changed places. He saw Elizabeth's gaze light up as Will made his way closer to her and he sighed resignedly.

"_**The pain it cause him was too much too live wid. And so him carve out him heart, lock it away in a chest, and hide da chest from da world**__."_

He looked at Davvy Jones standing next to him and outwardly he cringed from the creature's sneer, but inwardly he was laughing maniacally. Yes, it was all going according to plan. He had everything under control. He hoped.

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That middle part is awful. You know the one I'm talking about. There really isn't enough content, but I just kept droning on and on, so I cut it out, and haven't found a way to bridge it correctly. Anybody with any suggestions is welcome to give them, but otherwise, it's going to stay like this unless I'm suddenly hit with a wave of inspiration.


	10. Lioness

I know I was only going to include Jack, Elizabeth, and Teague as canon characters with some OCs but ever since AWE I've been fascinated by the relationship between Elizabeth and Hector. I think there's grudging respect there, like a mentor would have for his charge, an enjoyment in her accomplishments and an amusement in her simple blunders like that of an older brother or cousin. I see him as someone she can get advice from, but someone she has to keep herself together in front of. f he were an older brother or cousin she would feel uncomfortable being vulnerable in front of him because she wants to be seen as a equal. Someone she can turn to but not someone to rely on. A paradox that describes them nicely. I've taken out the OC in the character list and replaced it with him. Maybe you'll see more of him in his natural element, instead of gravely injured and slightly desperate. In this scene he is definitely OOC but I think your ship coming to life and forcing you to chop your own leg off would do that to anyone. But so Elizabeth. I have an idea of what's happening to her in this chapter, but I've left it largely unexplored both in the chapter and in my own mind. Maybe I will write something else to see why she is so bitter here, maybe I won't. I hope you like it. if you have any ideas about what should be happening to her behind the scenes, let me hear your suggestions. As always, read and review.

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She sat complacently. Not moving, scarcely breathing not to mention unblinking, but she lounged, like a big cat in the sun after a long day of successful hunting. Her likeness of a lioness was not a hard parallel to draw. Her skin bronzed to a dusky caramel and her hair bleached a bright blonde. She looked every bit the exotic beauty with her aristocratic nose and seething, tumultuous brown eyes.

But her hard expression and the fire that blazed in those endless depths called eyes belied her act. She was not the carefree, easy-going woman she tried to emulate. But she had never been that. He knew that better than most. Not as well as some, but he'd been stabbed with merely a butter knife, so he figured he had to be at least second on the list.

"Yer Majesty," he inclined shakily, trying to keep his wobbling to a minimum. Truthfully, he still wasn't recovered, but she a demanded an audience with him, telling anyone who would listen he needed to appear to explain himself.

"What came to be of the _Pearl_?" she asked him icily as she looked away from him, bouncing her foot lazily while it dangled over the arm of her chair.

Straight to business then. No pleasantries. He wanted to mention it but as he failed to answer with haste she returned her gaze to glare menacingly at him. With the heat of her gaze, he understood Jack Sparrow's fear with more sympathy than he ever wanted to gain and smartly decided against being his usual self altogether.

"Well!?" she barked in a voice that was only barely similar to the one he recognized. This was deep and sharp and gruff. He was ashamed to say he jumped a little.

"Blackbeard stole 'er out from under me," he told her, his words nervously tumbling out on top of themselves, all rushing to meet her approval so that their speaker didn't end up shot or stabbed.

She stared at him, long and hard. He could hear the wind outside and the smallest creek in the entirety of the immense building from the very centre in the deafening silence that followed. He thought he would fall over long before she answered, but mercifully, she gave him a small dip of her head that barely counted as a nod. She had accepted his answer. For some reason, he felt like crying in relief. Never in his life, not in the most terrifying of situations, had he ever felt like crying, in relief or otherwise. This woman...no wonder Jack loved her so much. She was incredibly special.

"And I see, instead of going down with your ship and crew like a respectable man, you abandoned her and your crew to a fate worse than death. To save your own miserable hide. After you had the audacity to steal her out from under Jack. Again."

"Blackbeard is-"

"Need I remind you," she interrupted him, her volume raising, her posture straightening and her hand stealthily acquiring a pistol from somewhere hidden on her person, "I am well within my rights to shoot you, as an act of piracy against a fellow Lord is almost a complete Violation of the Code, on the grounds of mutiny, which is not a respected practice, no matter how often practiced, and the fact that you are plainly disrespectful to your reigning King?"

He straightened involuntarily as best he could without falling on his newly carved leg.

"No ma'am," he hissed, his own venom coming through his tone as his pride rankled at her dressing down.

She arched an eyebrow, relaxing slowly back into her slack posture without a word, though obviously satisfied despite his defiance. He couldn't fathom why, but he took the opportunity nonetheless.

"We were outnumbered and unawares. Unable to combat magic we didn't know existed. But I'm the master of me fate. Not Blackbeard. I took matters into my own hand. I would live or die by my hand alone and if it was live, I would kill the bastard for the _Pearl. _Revenge is the only thing fitting for a ship such as she."

Suddenly the King's face softened. Not so much as she was showing emotion. No, she was too tough for that. But enough for his keen eye to notice. In a sudden flurry of movement, her legs went over the arm of her chair and she spun to face forward, slipping gracefully down the three steps to the floor, where she came to stand so close to him, he could hear her breathing.

She peered into his face, intently, searching for something; he didn't know what. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Do you really wish to see him dead?"

He snarled.

"More than you care to know," he promised her dangerously, in a voice as low as hers.

She stood firmly, eyes roving over his face, no twitch of fear in her body. She was not scared of him. Hadn't really ever been. Scared of what he turned into in the moonlight maybe, but never scared of him as a man. She had never been scared of any man. Maybe she was overconfident, maybe too trusting, but never had she been scared of a man. Men were mortal. And men she slayed without remorse.

"You did do some damage to his crew, and his ship, which is more than any other Captain has been able to say," she told him as she stepped back and sauntered with thudding boots toward a table covered in maps that he hadn't glanced at since coming in. He had been too focused on the lioness who's cave he had been entering with his life. He hoped to leave with it to.

"Recently," she continued, business-like, "He has enlisted some new crew members. One of them just happened to be a contact of mine. A young man named Simon Caldwell who-"

"A mere boy?" he interrupted, incredulous.

"A sixteen year-old," she continued tersely, steel in her voice, and a hand clenched over the butt of an unseen pistol, "Who has yet to be suspected of anything because of his age might I add, was recruited as a cabin boy...by Blackbeard's newly discovered daughter."

Barbossa growled.

"So that's who was doing all the yellin' in Spanish. Didn't know she was his bitch pup. Now I really wish my last shot had rang true and struck his precious murderess dead centre between her vicious eyes."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and gestured flippantly with her hand.

"Yes, yes, you want your revenge, we've covered this. What I have to tell you in actually important, so listen closely."

She pointed to the map.

"The boy found a way to send word and as of right now, they're somewhere near London, looking for someone who can lead them to the Fountain of Youth. Apparently one of Blackbeard's all-seeing officers has predicted his death. The Spanish are also looking for it. So guess who is the third party in this chase?"

"The King's Navy." She nodded.

"Precisely. I care not about the Fountain. But I want Blackbeard dead. He's violated so much of the Code, Teague wants to grind him up while he's still breathin' and feed him to the stray dogs, and then throw the stray dogs shit into the ocean for the fish. So guess what you're going to do, if you truly want him dead?"

Barbossa looked at her in complete shock.

"Surely you aren't daft enough to think that I-"

"There's a Navy recruiting ship going to be passing not three days from here, in a week's time," she ploughed on, heedless of his protests, "We're going to take you out there, chuck you in the ocean, blow up a Navy brig we've captured and you're on your way to merry old England after surviving two pirate attacks. The one that took your leg, and the one that left you for dead in the ocean. That should get you a huge promotion, especially if you tell them the first attack was Captain Jack Sparrow, and the second was Blackbeard himself. And with your experience, if demonstrated correctly, you should get first jump at being Captain, or at least First Officer on the ship destined to sail for the Fountain of Youth."

"Destined?" he asked her gruffly. He didn't like the sound of that.

She shrugged nonchalantly, even though her face told him she was withholding details.

"Paraphrasing."

He wanted to ask '_Paraphrasing who?'_ but figured that would get him nowhere. He glanced at the map.

"Any idea where to start looking for the Fountain?" She shrugged again.

"Last I heard from Jack, he was heading to Florida. Stopped here to barter a small boat and then he was off. I don't suppose he actually found it because then I surely would've heard it straight from him, but I'm sure he came close. Heard some tales that told of backward flowing water, and water going from ground to sky. Started by him no doubt."

Barbossa thought of their grand plan, taking place over months instead of hours, mostly theory, and set in motion by a sixteen year-old boy. But this was more information than he'd had hours ago. Hell this was more information than he'd had twenty minutes ago, and more than he probably would've had days from now. He turned to look at her gravely.

"I'll do it."

She gave him that baring of teeth that was more like a lioness threatening you to back away than a welcoming smile. He shivered.

"I knew you would."

She clapped him on the back, and with his new leg, he pitched forward slightly, off balance. She laughed at him and her laugh echoed in his ears until she left the hall. Her laugh sounded nothing like it had before. Though he'd had no occasion to hear her laugh, he knew this was not what it sounded like before.

But before what exactly?

He wondered who this lioness was, and what exactly he was getting himself into.


End file.
